Plebeian Samurai
by neuroi
Summary: The year is 1951, and Mio Sakamoto struggles to integrate back into life in Fuso.


Mio awoke to the sight of the gray ceiling above her. She lay silent, still, counting the bumps. She always woke up early, and she always had time to waste now that the war was over. Today would be her first day of civilian work. She hated the idea of it. She sat up in bed, looking across her room to the eyepatch that hung on the wall. She didn't need it any more. The gleaming pink of her eye had died out. Now it was a dull brown, just the same as the other. She covered the eye with her hand, then removed it, as if that would renew her power. It was gone. Her life as a soldier was over. It was time to move on.

Mio ate breakfast in silence. She brushed her teeth quietly. She got dressed without a sound. Things were far too quiet in this apartment, almost as if the building itself was dead. She felt as though she was living within a corpse. She had recently started to teach herself how to apply makeup. In the 501st she had received a makeover from Lieutenant Yeager, but she hadn't thought that she would ever need such a thing. She sighed, applying a pinkish lipstick. _How foolish of me to think I could fight forever. _She examined herself in the mirror. She had done quite a good job, considering she had never done this before this week. Her eyeliner was uneven, but practice made perfect. She had learned to pilot a Striker, and she would learn how to use eyeliner.

She went out of the apartment, glad to be out in the air. She got in her car, a bit ashamed of herself for not exercising her legs by jogging to work. With all the effort she had placed in applying her makeup, there was just no time. She couldn't drive very well, having only learned as a hobby during off-duty days. She recalled Minna disciplining her for forgetting the rules of the road. Back then, Mio hadn't worried about it. She'd had her Strikers for transport, and she could fly a plane on the side. She hadn't thought that once she left the 501st, such things would not be available to her. She couldn't afford a plane on the money she'd saved from her base pay, and her new job wouldn't help much.

When she arrived, she immediately got to work. She had been hired as a waitress with no problems. Seeing her accomplishments at war, they had chosen her immediately. Witches were idolized, and there were all sorts of benefits, but she had been unable to acquire any better job than this. She had no skills unrelated to the world of Neuroi and Strikers. Her talent with weaponry would get her nowhere among the civilians, and so she had taken this job as a last resort. She smiled uncharacteristically as she served drinks and meals to patrons. She hated the falsehood of it all. The two other waitresses seemed so much more charismatic than she was. She comforted herself by sizing each up as a soldier. They had probably lived cushy lives. They would never make it as far as she had. She immediately felt a pang of shame. How could she judge them, when she hadn't even had the strength to keep up her magic? She hurried along, but as she passed a table where two older men sat, she felt something touch her rear end. She heard one of the men snicker. Her reaction was to slam the tray she was carrying down on their table and bark at the customers._  
_

"What was that?" She shouted.

"Nothing, miss." One of the men replied. She recognized his voice from the snickering.

"You touched me." Sakamoto continued, her voice harsh.

"Yeah, I did." The other man stated.

Mio's voice continued to raise. She was fuming. "Who do you think you are? More importantly, who do you think I am?"

The man, fat and bald, started to say something, but he was interrupted by another man. Mio recognized him from her job interview. He was the owner. "What's the problem here?"

"This man touched me!" Mio kept her voice up, pointing at her attacker. "This is wildly inappropriate behavior! Nobody gets away with disrespecting me this way!"

"Calm down, miss Sakamoto." The owner soothed. "I'll handle this, Sir."

The owner ushered the retired Witch to the back of the restaurant. Behind the walls, Mio's outrage continued.

"Sir, he has to be punished. Kick him out of the restaurant. Don't let him come back."

The older man shook his head. "Miss Sakamoto, you know that I would hate to have to fire such a decorated veteran..."

"What?"

"You have to treat patrons well, no matter if you like them or not. The customer is always right here."

"B-but!" Mio's anger turned to shrill desperation. "H-he's mistreating employees! Isn't there something to be said for that?"

"Miss Sakamoto, why don't we forget today? You can start tomorrow. Maybe you'll realize that you're overreacting by then."

"No!" Mio's voice reclaimed its aggressive tone. "How about this. I quit. I can find another job."

"Miss Sakamoto, that isn't necessary."

"If you're planning on treating me like this, then it is." She untied her apron, tossing it onto the floor, and twirling around to leave the restaurant. As she exited the building, she noticed that the two men had left the table.

She got back in her car. As she sped away, she fought to hold a frown, her lip quivering. Tears welled up in her eyes. What had she become? All she had been doing for the past two weeks was crying. What had happened to the warrior who had lead the 501st Joint Fighter Wing into battle so many times? Why was she feeling so sorry for herself? She released a sob as she thought of it. That warrior had left her. She was an empty shell of the Witch she had once been. She wiped a tear from her now-dormant eye as she turned toward her apartment. She had a phone call to make.


End file.
